


The Journals of Flathener Sosas: A Story of the First Bookkeeper

by Geonn



Series: The Bookkeeper's Archive [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Original Work
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, Literature, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The First Bookkeeper and her clerk, Hollis Lodi, set out to retrieve the lost handwritten drafts of a famous author's books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journals of Flathener Sosas: A Story of the First Bookkeeper

**Author's Note:**

> Related to Book's Story (http://archiveofourown.org/works/504293). That's sort of a primer for this series, but it's not necessary to have read it to understand the story. The Bookkeeper is a Time Lord who hunts down rare books for the Library, which was seen in "Silence in the Library" and "Forests of the Dead." If you don't want to read the whole big story, a cheat-sheet for the character can be found here! http://geonncannon.livejournal.com/1626938.html

The panels in the central console were raised, revealing the TARDIS control panel. In all other respects, the room looked like a typical shop you might find on any street of any number of planets. The tea service trembled as if we were suffering a minor trembler, but there was no ground beneath the foundation to shake. I used my pinkie to push my gold-rimmed glasses back up to the bridge of my nose, my feet shoulder-width apart as I watched the display. 

Hollis Lodi, my clerk, gripped the edge of the console to keep her balance but otherwise showed no outward signs of the turbulence. Her people were seafaring, so she earned sea legs before she could walk on solid ground. Her red robe swayed around her black leggings as if blown by a gentle breeze. Myself, positively dowdy by comparison, wore a floor-length floral skirt under a white blouse. My red hair was done up in twin buns at the base of my skull, and my jewelry clattered over the console as I tried to direct our descent.

The turbulence gentled and I smiled at Hollis. "Ninebadge Beach, and none the worse for wear."

"As promised." Hollis finally released the console and smoothed down the bodice of her robes. "It seems highly inefficient, however. The Library is capable of printing any book it requires."

"Certainly. But this way is much more fun." I turned away from the console and took my sweater and cloche off the rack. "The computer can access its database and cough out a new pristine copy. But how cold and impersonal! Books need to be read, to be loved. An untouched copy of a book has never been held and has never touched a heart. It's a sad thing without a soul. Whereas the _real_ books, the actual copies that existed... that stood on shelves in homes and were carried in bags. They are the true treasures, and they are worth preserving whenever possible."

Hollis considered the concept as we left the TARDIS. "So you are seeking the book's damage. You want it for the deficiencies."

"I want it for the life. The books at the Library are paper dolls. They look right, but they aren't alive. They have no soul. I'm looking for the books with soul."

I locked the door and made certain the little sign in the window was turned to CLOSED. It was the default setting; the chameleon circuit adjusted the exterior accordingly depending on the planet. Wherever we were, it assumed the appearance of a quiet corner bookshop. Now, on Ninebadge, it looked like a stone Quonset hut with arched windows. I set off down the wide cobblestone road, and Hollis followed one step behind me as she always did.

"We're searching for the journals of Flathener Sosas," I said. "He's one of Ninebadge Beach's preeminent writers, and he wrote all of his adventurings - that was what he called them - longhand in beautifully bound leather journals. When he died, his estranged wife threw them out after they went unsold at the estate sale. The Head Librarian would like me to attend the auction and purchase them, to make them available for the more avid patrons."

"And if there happens to be stories that weren't mass produced, unfinished masterpieces...?"

I grinned widely. "More the better!"

Hollis pursed her lips. "I don't see the appeal. Indecipherable handwriting, smudged ink, torn pages... why go to that bother when the same story is available in perfect printing?"

I laughed and put my arm around her. "Oh, Hollis, you don't understand the true heart of a bibliophile. That's why you signed on to travel with me."

"Indeed, Bookkeeper."

We rounded a corner and stopped dead in our tracks. A crowd had gathered in front of a wooden gallows, upon which stood a man dressed in sackcloth. His face was mostly obscured by a salt-and-pepper beard, and his hair was wild and black. It looked as if someone had tried to tar and feather a dandelion, his wild eyes darting about over the crowd as he fought the restrains that held his arms behind his back.

Three officials dressed in flowing white robes formed a pyramid around the prisoner. They were featureless masks in different colors: green and orange at the front, with purple at the back. Orange stepped forward and raised its right hand, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. "Attend!" said a gender-neutral voice. "Attend! Attend! We come to pass judgment upon Flathener Sosas."

My shoulders sagged. "Brace yourself, Hollis. This just got a bit more exciting than attending an auction."

We joined the crowd as the apparent bailiff removed a scroll. I still couldn't determine the gender, but the voice was more feminine than masculine so I made a guess. She began to read, her voice carrying surprisingly well despite the fact the mask covered her mouth. "Flathener Sosas, for the crime of authorship, for the crime of revealing inner secrets, for the crime of pride. How plead you?"

"Proudly guilty." He leaned forward. " _I_ am guilty of being who I am, of having my own thoughts. And if I am guilty, then so are we all."

A murmur went up through the crowd. I finally noticed that every person's face was obscured by a thin mesh veil. I suddenly felt very conspicuous and wished I'd taken a moment to scan the planet before going out in my normal attire. I could see Hollis felt the same way, but it was too late to go back to the TARDIS. Besides, I didn't want to miss the trial.

Purple Mask stepped forward and spoke in the same androgynous tone. "Flathener Sosas. You have written and distributed your innermost thoughts. You have expressed your individuality and committed your crime to paper. For this crime, you are to be put to death immediately."

Hollis leaned toward me. "We must do something."

"There's nothing we can do." I hated saying it, but it was true. "This is their law, and he is unquestionably guilty of breaking it. As much as I wish there was something I could do..." I shrugged and looked sadly toward the stage. It was painfully obvious now why so little information about Ninebadge Beach was ever recorded. And now I could see the truth about Flathener's journals. They hadn't even been included in his estate, and there would be no chance for me to buy them. A world this protective of its privacy, of its groupthink, would never allow the journals out. It was a miracle any of his books had gotten out at all.

I patted Hollis' leg and motioned for her to follow me. We moved slowly, casually making out way to the edge of the crowd. The people we passed turned away from our uncovered faces and odd clothing, but none of them sent up the alarm. I tugged the cloche further down, covering my eyebrows with the shadow from the brim as I led Hollis away from the spectacle. 

"What now?"

"The estate sale isn't going to include his journals; his wife will simply throw them out. We must intercept them before they become garbage." I took out the small stone relay to my TARDIS hard drive. "Access personal information, author Flathener Sosas. Identify last known address, compare to Ninebadge Beach topography, display map." There was a momentary hum, then the road map appeared on the face of the stone. I twisted it, using my finger to change the direction until it looked right side up. "There we go. This way, Hollis, step lively!"

We moved through the city, thankfully unseen since everyone was at the so-called trial in the center of town. Flathener's home was a small wooden thing, set back from the road to provide a small tidy lawn. I gathered my skirts, revealing the rolled socks above my brown boots, and hopped the fence. Hollis chose the more respectable route, going through the unlocked gate. No sense of adventure in that one, but she was fun in her own way.

I strode up the brick walkway, testing the knob and finding it unlocked. I went inside without more than a slight pause. No one questions a person walking into a house if they had enough purpose. I took off my cloche once we were inside and took a quick scan. It was a single room, with a ladder that led up to a sleeping loft. We were in a large kitchen with a slab-like dining surface, relaxation to the right and recreation to the left. 

"Look quickly, Hollis. In my experience, kangaroo court trials never last very long." 

We began our search for the journals. Hollis looked high, I looked low. I bent my knees and angled them out, twisting my head to peer under the table. If the trial was any indication, books of the sort we were looking for would be contraband. I doubted they would be left out where just anyone could find them. I stretched out on my stomach, then rolled over onto my back. I flattened my palms to the floor and used my hands and feet to propel myself through the space. Under tables, wriggling beneath furniture, eyeing the rafters far above, I looked for places that were out of normal sight.

I reached the door just as it opened, bumping the top of my head. I said "Ow," and a woman with hair like straw peered down at me. Her brow furrowed, and she smiled.

No, wait, I was upside down. She frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Bookkeeper. You can call me Book. Hello." I could see Hollis perched in the loft above, crouching like a cat so she wouldn't be seen. I pushed myself up and brushed off the back of my sweater and skirt. "Sorry. Very clean floor, however. It was lovely to scoot around on. You must be Mrs. Sosas."

"Adaesua. Dae. What are you doing here?" She closed the door and looked around. She didn't look up, so Hollis remained unseen. "I have not invited you here."

"No. We-well." I coughed to cover my slip. " _I_ am here to attend the auction of your husband's things."

She stiffened and snorted derisively. "The body is not yet done swinging. I'm sure there are items in his pockets for you to steal if you must..." She walked past me and tossed her things onto the table. She unlaced the strings of her veil and dropped it, letting it drift down like a feather on a dying draught of wind. She turned to me, face framed by the two strands of blonde hair on either side of her face, and put her fists on her hips.

"The auction is not until tomorrow. Have the decency to wait until then, and don't just invite yourself into my privacy. My husband may have lay down his thoughts for all and sundry, but I will not. Good day, Madame Bookkeeper."

"Well, you see, that's a problem. The auction isn't exactly going to have what I'm looking for. His journals. The handwritten--"

She stepped forward and shushed me. "You must be mad. What makes you think I kept those things? What makes you think I wanted them in my home? I got rid of them. Immediately."

My heart sank. "I'm terribly upset to hear that, Mrs. Sosas. You see, I'm not from here. I came a very long way to get those writings, and I was hoping I could save them from destruction."

Dae narrowed her eyes. "You came a long way? From where? Why?"

"Your husband is a very famous writer where I come from." I gestured with my chin toward the ceiling. She followed the motion and finally noticed Hollis crouching in her loft. She stared for a moment, then looked at me with a more critical eye.

"You're from another planet."

Hollis carefully descended the ladder, not turning her back on us. "And another time."

"We are trying to protect literature. To honor writing. Flathener Sosas is known on a dozen worlds, maybe more, as a man with a sensitive and caring insight. His stories have touched millions. We came here because we wanted to preserve as much of his writing as possible. We didn't know it was a crime."

Dae lowered her head and looked at her clasped hands. "I told him writing all those tales would lead to no good. But he wouldn't listen to me. Now look at him." She wiped her eyes. "It's a crime. Individualism. Standing out from the crowd, making a fuss of yourself. Being different. What does he do? What does ol' Hener do? He writes down his innermost thoughts. He weaves stories filled with his observations and opinions, and he gives 'em away." She screwed her face up in pain and turned away from us. Hollis joined me, standing by my side.

"Seems to me, they got it wrong. Reading stories is a way to see we're not alone. Someone else out there feels the same way you do. Hurt, or scared, or brave, or in love. Reading a story is reassurance that we're not alone." I considered it. "I guess that's the crime. You're the same, so how can you be separate from each other? That's what all this conformity is, right? Keeping your distance. No need to connect if the people around you are just the same."

Hollis said, "Your husband's mind was special to you, yes?" Dae turned to look at her and, very slightly, nodded. "Then don't let it disappear. They took him away from you, but the man he was lives on in the stories he wrote. They killed him. You can make him immortal."

Dae walked to the window and looked outside. I caught Hollis' eye and nodded. Very well done. Couldn't have said it better myself. Dae rested her hands on the windowsill and then, with a sudden and unexpected movement, snapped it away from the wall. She reached into a crevice that was deep enough to take most of her arm, then withdrew a set of thick journals. My heart quickened as she crossed the room and held them out.

"Don't let anyone see you with these."

"I won't. Thank you."

She nodded. "Go. They're going to come and take the rest of his things soon. I'll just tell people I burned them."

That was the official story. I nodded and tucked the journals under the waistband of my skirt. My sweater draped the top, leaving an unnoticeable book-shaped bulge on my right hip. "Thank you, Mrs. Sosas."

Her tears overflowed and rolled down her cheeks. "Go. Hurry. Give my husband his immortality."

I thanked her again as Hollis opened the door and looked out. She motioned that the path was clear, and I followed her outside. We could hear people on the previously empty streets, coming closer. The murdering was done, and now people were going back to their bland and unindividual lives. I tried not to judge; not my place and not my society.

When we returned to the TARDIS, I noticed the sign over the door. Usually it said TEA SHOP or BOOKS 'n' MORE or something mundane like that. Here it said simply CONTRABAND. A small white slip was taped to the door; a summons. I wadded it up and tossed it over my shoulder deciding that I was granted diplomatic immunity. 

We launched. We were between destinations when Hollis surprised me. "May I see them?"

"What? The journals?"

She shrugged. "I've never read any of his books. I'd be interested to see what a man is willing to die for. What people would put someone to death for writing."

I took it out of my waistband, holding it out to her. "It's nothing scandalous. But it'll be a good read. I love his work."

She opened it and wandered toward the fireplace. I was angling us toward Pleaseteeth in the eighth epoch when she spoke up.

"I get it now, Book."

"Mm?" I turned and saw her running her fingers over the inked words. "Get what?"

"Why these journals are important. A story is like telepathy, like a link to the writer's brain. It's a connection with another human being, right? So actually seeing where it was written, to see the penmanship and the strokes of his quill... it's like touching someone else's mind in a way you can't usually. It's knowing you're not alone. Proof of life."

I smiled. "Quite right, Hollis." I faced the console again. "So, are you ready for another pick-up or shall we take a break?"

A pause before she answered. "I'd actually like to read for a bit, if that's all right."

"Always all right," I said. "Take as long as you want. In fact..." I looked toward the bookshelves and knew I had a Flathener Sosas book somewhere around here. Maybe we could read it together and compare the first and final drafts. "I think I'll join you. Which one are you reading?"


End file.
